


The North's Daughter

by spittingfeathers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: “Oh! I know who you are,” he said in a delighted voice. “You’re a little Stark! It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of you…”The hope of rescue before something terrible happened slipped quickly from her mind, but in its absence anger rose quickly to fill the void. She was a Lady, but the Old Gods be damned, she would not end up like her sister.(Formerly Wolf Girl)





	1. Her Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out some more drafts! As for this one this has actually got a plan which is...roughly finished, but I just wanted to post this because it's going to be a while for anything else and I wanted to give you a preview of what I'll be working on after AIA and BMH :)

They’d been deep in the woods when the wolf had appeared, just metres away. Arya had barely been able to breathe, keeping as still as she possibly could, she waited. 

Shireen had crept up behind her, and her hand had found it’s way to Arya’s gripping it so tightly her fingers prickled with pins and needles. 

The wolf had sniffed the air, taking a step forward before it stiffened—ears pricked and turned its head, listening intently, before loping off through the trees, picking up speed as it went.

“Arya wait!” Shireen Baratheon’s call was distant, she had fallen behind in Arya’s mad chase but she didn’t understand. None of them would. When they returned to Winterfell later she was sure to be told off for leading her cousin into the woods so far from the castle. But Arya couldn’t care less—any punishment was worth seeing the wolf again.

Arya’s boots were caked in mud and her dress was torn and wet from snow. Her once neat hair was a mess of tangles and her skin flushed from the exertion, looking more like a Wildling than the high-born lady she was meant to be. This, Arya decided, was a lot more exciting than needlework and songs. Her mother had put the braids in that morning in an attempt to make her look presentable to Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Robert. Not that either would care whether she wore breeches and left her hair loose. They’d probably find it amusing how she would look when they returned.

“Slow down!” Shireen called. 

“Hurry up!” Arya yelled back hiking her dress up around her knees to move quicker, teeth bared in a wild smile as she tried to catch up with the wolf. She could hear Shireen panting behind her as she ran, surprised that the girl could keep up. 

Arya would apologise later, but for now, she had to catch her wolf.

The first time she’d seen it was when she had been out riding with Rob and father—a glint of dark golden eyes and blur of grey fur as it dashed away into the forest, so quick that only Arya had noticed. They had laughed when she told them later—a Direwolf this far from the wall? No. She must have imagined it. Only Arya knew what she saw, and that didn’t account for all the very realistic dreams she’d had afterward…running through the woods, hunting with her pack, the taste of blood in her mouth when they’d brought down a buck together. 

Arya jumped over fallen trees, ran through thorny bushes and frozen puddles all in an effort to keep up with the wolf she was following, and then in the space of one blink, the wolf was gone. She skidded to a stop and swung around, letting her dress drop to form a soggy mess around her boots. No grey fur, no tracks, no dark gold eyes. There was no sign of the wolf anywhere.

Arya let out a growl of frustration and stamped her foot. She couldn’t believe she’d lost it! She heard Shireen run up behind her, face red with exertion and breathing heavily.

“Did you get it?” she panted, wheezing a little.

“No.” Arya huffed. “And there’s no tracks either.” she kicked a nearby root in frustration and cursed behind gritted teeth when her toes throbbed angrily in response. Shireen pressed her lips together in a frown as she always did when Arya did something rude.

The cracking of a branch behind them made Arya want to swear again. She squashed down the hope that it was her wolf, because it wasn’t — her wolf was _quiet._

“What was that?” Shireen whispered, her hand slipping into Arya’s with practiced ease, though neither could tell whose grip was tighter.

“Dunno,” Arya murmured back, her other hand going for the small dagger she’d pinched from Rob weeks ago. He hadn’t missed it and Arya was careful to keep it out of sight, tucked into a sheath in her boot.

“Should we go back?” 

Arya hated to admit it but she agreed. She nodded. 

“Which way?” 

Casting her gaze about the forest Arya realised with an unsettling lurch in her stomach that she didn’t recognise it. Running after her wolf had led them away from any place she’d been before. As Arya hadn’t immediately led them back, it was clear they were lost. 

Unfortunately, they were also not alone. The sound of twigs underfoot was the last straw. Arya yanked the dagger from her boot and held it out the way she’d seen her brothers do when they trained. 

Shireen gasped at the sight of it and Arya shushed her, nudging her with her arm to head back the way they’d come. They’d only taken around ten steps when an arrow whistled by Arya’s ear and buried itself with a thunk in the nearest tree. 

Arya whirled around, heart beating fast, and shoved Shireen behind her.

Two wildlings emerged from the forrest, their furs dark enough to blend in with the fading light. They hadn’t been gone that long surely? 

The Wildlings moved to stand ten feet in front of them, dressed in grey furs, one with a bow, the other a long blade at his hip, both of them were smirking.

“What’ve we got here? Two little girls out on their own?” his hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Arya held her dagger tighter, painfully aware of how small it was and wishing desperately she had been taught to fight or shoot or do something other than sing songs and sew. 

“No. Not alone. Now best you go about your business and we’ll go about ours.” She had intended to sound threatening but her voice shook and Arya knew they heard it from the way their grins widened. Behind her, Shireen whimpered.

“Two little _ladies!”_ The archer crowed. “What do you reckon? Shall we keep them?” he looked to his friend with eager eyes.

“Bit young, even for you” his friend sneered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his fur and sniffing loudly.

“Fuck off,” he spat back, “nothing wrong with a bit of tender meat, eh?” The archer kicked him in the leg and while he was distracted used his hand to yank on his friends thin brown hair — to tease or harm him it seemed an odd sort of game. The Wildling weilding a sword took a swing at his friend and then the two were scuffling.

With Shireen’s death grip on Arya’s arm it was hard to shake her off, to get her to understand that she should _go._

 _Get help_. she wanted to whisper to her cousin. _Get help so my father and brothers can chop these bastards into little pieces_. Arya would hold them off as long as she could with her little knife. If she could get the sword or put an arrow in their eyes…somehow, she might just be able to win.

Shireen slipped away and Arya was glad that her cousin was smart enough to understand.

She stood stiffly watching the scuffling men who now seemed more like boys for their roughhousing, tense and waiting the right moment to strike. If she moved quickly—

A scream broke the silence and the scuffle at Arya’s feet came to a halt. She leapt back to her tree, knife out again, just in time for a third Wildling to appear. His eyes were cold and smile sharp, furs a little darker and clearly the leader of the two shit heads in front of her if the way they straightened their spines and held up their heads was any indication. “I found this one…” he pulled Shireen in front of him, hand clamped down on her shoulder, “trying to escape.” 

Then his grey eyes settled on Arya and she felt a shiver race down her spine. His hand loosened on Shireen’s shoulder and she took that moment to race over to her and latch onto her arm again, shivering in fear. 

“Oh! I know who _you_ are _,_ ” he said in a delighted voice. “You’re a little Stark! It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of you…”

The hope of rescue before something terrible happened slipped quickly from her mind, but in its absence anger rose quickly to fill the void. 

She was a Lady, but the Old Gods be damned, she would not end up like her sister.


	2. Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now this one…“ he eyes Shireen with a look of false pity that makes her want to smack it from his lips. “A little lady with the stone face—a little Baratheon. Though not much of a fighter I see. They really should have put you down years ago — it’s what they do with dogs, best not to breed a sickness into them. Runts are drowned.”

Arya feels angry and stupid for chasing after her wolf, knowing that by doing so she and Shireen would be in more and more danger the further they went without guards or family around to help if they got into trouble. Jon and Robb were probably blaming themselves for not keeping a closer eye on them too. Arya can just imagine how worried they would be, looking for her together, or perhaps they had called for help and her father had rallied the household and guards to look for them…

“Now this one…“ he eyes Shireen with a look of false pity that makes her want to smack it from his lips. “A little lady with the stone face—a little Baratheon. Though not much of a fighter I see. They really should have put you down years ago — it’s what they do with dogs, best not to breed a sickness into them. Runts are _drowned_.”

 The man’s face is pink from the cold and his dark hair ruffled around small, oddly pale eyes, like two chips of dirty ice. There’s something not right about him, and the way he looks at her makes her insides tense unpleasantly and the hairs along her arms stand on end. “I’m surprised they let you out on your own considering what happened to your sister…and after all, having been taken so young only the Gods know what they _did_ with her.” His smile is sharp and the other two men snigger to their right. 

Sansa hadn’t been more than three. Sansa hadn’t been old enough to fight. 

Maybe this was one of the bastards who took her? Maybe it was his friends? 

The thought makes her feel strangely light like all her thoughts and worries have floated away and it’s just her, the here and now, and this Wildling shit who’s going to kill her. 

_I could kill him_ , she thinks _. He’d deserve it._

Arya knows she can’t fight them all off at once — and as Shireen is a proper lady with a gentle heart to boot she would be useless in a fight. Her cousin’s talents didn’t lay in swordplay. Arya’s might, had they ever let her near one.

It’s her wild side that’s in control now and she wants to spit at him, tell this Wildling bastard that he doesn’t know shit and that her father will kill him where he stands if he so much as touches a hair on their heads. And that’s not even counting what Uncle Robert would do. Or Aunt Lyanna…or even _mother_. 

The thought of her mother turns her stomach into a pit of dread. Only the Gods knew how Lady Stark would cope if she’d lost _two_ daughters to Wildlings. 

Arya grips her little knife tighter in her hand and wishes she’d never bothered getting out of bed this morning, no matter how much Septa Mordane would have complained. 

“Not much of a talker, are you?” he hums. Arya bears her teeth at him and he tuts, “not very polite for a lady either.”

“I’m not a **fucking** Lady.” Arya snarls more wolf than a girl and promptly spits into the snow at his feet. “And you’re probably some bastard from—“

“Oh, you are _very_ rude.” He cuts her off and laughs like it’s some great joke but his eyes and lips are tight with a cold anger and he gives her a nasty smile. 

So far he’s completely ignored the other two Wildlings with him and they watch like eager little puppies to see what will happen. It’s almost as though they’ve seen something like this before. 

“But I’m _not_ a bastard.” He pulls out a sharp knife that glimmers oddly in the half-light. “I’ve had to teach some respect, a time or two—you see the thing is with the North, the Lords and Ladies don’t care about the Wildlings out here so I can pretty much do what I want with them and no one will bat an eye. The Wildlings won’t respect an outsider without a reason so I’ve had quite a bit of practice recently…” he twists the knife in his hands and Shireen whimpers behind her. His eyes seem to widen eagerly at the sound. 

_“He’s not a Wildling”_ she whispers into Arya’s ear, _“he can be reasoned with.”_

He shifts as though to come closer.

“Take another step and I’ll gut you!” Arya threatens, but her arm is shaking from holding out the dagger and her palm is sweating from gripping it so tightly and she knows that it won’t remain in her hand for long when it comes to a fight.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His voice is hushed and there’s almost pleasure in the ways that he says it. “I wonder how long it would take to make you scream, hm? It seems _she’s_ already on the verge of pissing herself.”

“Please, don’t hurt us!” Shireen blurts, her voice shaking with terror. “Our fathers will pay you — they’re rich, both of them, a-and as long as we’re unharmed they’ll see to it that you’re handsomely rewarded!”

“See! Now, this one’s much more polite.” He looks back at his underlings quickly who laugh, turning back just as fast — too fast for Arya to make a move and jam her knife in his neck—“But I don’t want your gold.”

“Then they’ll cut you to bits.” Shireen yells and Arya knows she’s biting her lip, and instead of telling her to shush she feels a fierce burst of pride for her cousin - standing up for herself. “Or they’ll hang you. Drag you behind the horses. I even heard that across the narrow sea they burn people alive and—“ Shireen’s threats seem to anger him and it’s something Arya’s seen before. 

The bully, thinking they’ve lost power in the situation would seek to show their dominance, usually through violence, and almost always the younger and weaker target gives in. Not this time. Arya might get a wicked looking scar that would scare all but the Northerner’s from asking for her hand but she’s going to land a hit on this bastard even if she has to bite him!

The man takes a single step forward, the knife in his hand twirling in his fingers, and with a sharp flick is up and ready to strike. Before Arya can so move a muscle and jam her dagger into his eye or throat or anything really, there’s a shout of pain, a curse, and he’s clutching at his bleeding hand, the knife flying through the air to land in the snow several feet behind him. 

The world seems to still and Arya feels a burst of hope in her chest. Shireen’s grip on her hand tightens and it starts to tingle in a way that warns it will be painful soon enough when the blood flow comes surging back. Could it be Robb or Jon? Perhaps Jory or father? Or even Aunt Lyanna come to save them and—

A figure steps out from the brush, furs blending neatly in with the terrain around them, arrows on their back and bow hanging at their side. 

_No_ , Arya thinks, _it’s not our family._

“How about you let the lil ladies go, eh?” the voice is low and soft and sort of _pleasantly threatening_ which Arya finds a strange combination because it seems to work. The dynamic duo who had stood dumbly off to the side laughing and sniggering at threatening two little girls go stiff and pale. 

Their leader looks up, clutching his bleeding hand and laughs. “Oh this is too good!” he almost shouts it as he takes a step to the side, away from Arya and Shireen who turn with him, Arya’s little knife focused on his back. “Are we going to have a little family reunion?“

_What’s he talking about?_ Arya thought as she eyed the two suspiciously. _Are they related? She would never be able to take on four attackers alone. I doubt I could manage one — not without serious injury anyway._

“Oh shut your mouth, Ramsay— and you two—your fathers would be ashamed! More ashamed than they are of you now, if they heard you were teaming up with this sack of shit. Stealing, raping, and flaying the last I heard. I bet they’ll come out and hunt you down themselves once I tell them you’ve been praying on little Ladies. Looking for the Southern Lords to come over here and start hacking everyone to bits, are you?”

The men look almost shamed but Ramsay seems delighted.

Arya could stab him now with his attention distracted by the newcomer, but this _Ramsay_ was probably a lot quicker than her and he probably had a few more knives stashed about his furs. He’d likely hurt her much more than she could hurt him and then that would leave Shireen alone…she needed to get them both out of there, safe. It was her fault they were in this situation after all.

 The hooded figure turns toward them and Arya knows the woman is looking at them. If only she’d just shot him straight in the eye, then they’d only have to deal with his two followers. “Run. You won’t want to see this.”

They don’t need telling twice and it’s unlikely that they’ll get a better opening. Yanking Shireen away, they run as fast as they can, hearing Ramsay shout angrily behind them. 

_“What are you doing?! Go after them!”_

They hear the crunch of snow beneath boots and Arya looks quickly over her shoulder to find the sword-carrying Wildling hot on their heels. 

Arya drags Shireen over roots, under low branches and around twisted trunks to avoid the man. They’re small and quick, but tiring, and their bellies are empty. They’ve been out so long, they’re cold, and he knows the terrain far better than they do. Arya yells as her hair is grabbed, the messy braids tugging mercilessly at her scalp. She lets go of Shireen’s hand and twists, jamming her dagger hard into whatever bit of the man she can find and strikes true. The furs are no match for castle forged steel and the man curses, releasing her hair to clamp his hand over the dagger hilt buried in his arm. His hand so strong he crushes her fingers against the hilt but she refuses to let go, couldn’t. It was their only weapon. She was pulling, and Shireen had grabbed her shoulders and was pulling too but then—

Arya sees stars when he punches her in the side of the head and her grip slackens and she trips, falling backwards over a root, hearing Shireen’s fearful cry of “Arya!” in her ear as she is caught beneath her.

“Run…” Arya says, her word coming out slurred and her vision a little blurry. Perhaps its the dark. She pushes herself to the side so Shireen is free to go, but her cousin doesn’t move.

“I’m not leaving you!” Shireen tries to pull her up but only succeeds in dragging her a little way across the snow. Not fast enough to escape the wildling whose anger has turned his face dark and ugly, having pulled the dagger from his arm to hold out in front of him, dripping red.

“I’ll take this as a gift.” He spat. “And then I’ll gut you.”

Shireen manages to pull her up but Arya’s steps are wobbly and uneven, blinking furiously to try and get the ground to stop rocking left and right like a ship atop the water.

The man laughs as they stumble away, letting them get far enough that he can’t see them before he begins to follow again. He’s playing with them. Arya feels a shiver travel down her spine. They’re not going to make it.

“Go Shireen. Up. Climb it.” Arya laces her fingers together and all but shoves Shireen into the branches of the nearest tree. 

As soon as she’s settled on a sturdy branch she turns and offers her hand which waves frantically. “Arya come on. Quickly before he gets here!” 

“Stay quiet. Don’t move.”

They share a look and she sees her cousin’s terrified face. Eyes so blue that for a moment it seems like she’s looking at the sky. 

_I will not end up like Sansa. I won’t go quietly._

She stops and turns and waits until the man appears clutching tightly at his arm and hopes that it hurts. If she’s going to die she might as well do it fighting, and she’d break all the damn rules, it’s not like her mother could hear her now. 

Arya looks him dead in the eye. “Fucking do it then, you **cunt**.” 

He bears his crooked teeth and steps forward, drawing his sword and raising it up above his head with a theatrical slowness that Bran would have been proud of had they been playing knights and maidens.

Just as he tightens his jaw to make the swing there’s a blur of fur, snarls, choked cries and the sword is dropped as a wolf ( _Nymeria, she’s here, she saved me, she’s here!)_ knocks him back into the snow and latches her jaws around his throat, biting down and pulling, ripping and tearing. He’s choking, gurgling on blood and his hands and legs are twitching, kicking trying to get away and pull on the fur of the wolf who is about to end him so quickly. And then there’s blood, spraying up and out and seeping out onto the snow. He stills as it bubbles up from the wound, turning the ground around him red.

Shireen’s scream echoes in the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand it's going to be a little while before I update this again, going to try and finish the four other fics before I work seriously on this one again. It's four parts and I've finished the rough draft for the first and need to rewrite the plan for the rest as it's a bit of a mess...BUT...i'm looking forward to getting back to this as it's a FUN fic to write :) hope you liked this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse any mistakes this was posted at 2am uk time! I'm really excited about this one though I'm going to finish the others I have first!


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